Darwin's Sword: Savannah - Book Two
Page 8
The fire engine roared past with sirens and lights blaring, not that she noticed.
December 24, 2013
Printed in the online edition of The Herald
A fire at a downtown nightclub last night took the lives of two well-known theatre critics. Devlin Phillips and Vanna Sanderson were the only patrons not to make it out of the club when faulty wiring ignited the wooden floor…
XVI
Darwin’s Sword
February 28, 2018
Savannah hadn’t moved.
Setting the pad down on his lap, Gerald turned his chair and began to wheel it towards her.
“You said there were eight.” Savannah’s voice was quiet.
He stopped. “Yeah, why?”
“That was seven. Can you finish it?”
He nodded and picked the pad back up.
Zed floated away from the console, moving closer to Gerald.
“The last one is called ‘I Don’t Believe In You’.”
XVII
I Don’t Believe In You
December 28, 2013
Maria woke and stretched.
The next show was still a week from moving in, so she had nothing but busy work to be doing for the next seven days. There would be much sweeping and dusting, but little else that would call upon her talents.
She had made a quick coffee before she got dressed in jeans and her black T-shirt from the Heart concert she attended last summer. She then made her way down to assess if there was to be any extra clean-up required from the exit of the last show. As she expected, there was none.
Outside, the snow began to pile up, suggesting it was not going to let her out today.
Would be a good day for a book and a bottle of red, it seemed. Then she, instead, had an idea for a little adventure. The front curtain had a problem closing the final evening of the show as it was caught above in the rigging, so she decided to climb and free it. After a brief sweep of the back warehouse, she found the ladder between the third and fourth wing stage left and climbed.
From above, the theatre looked different. Without the focus of stage lights, there were different shadows and things to see from up there. The wings looked like waves of red ocean along each side of the stage.
Maria leaned on the metal scaffolding rail and just took it all in. Leaning over the railing, she saw what the issue with the curtain was. It would be an easy fix coming at it from a ladder or riser below, but not from up here.
“It’s a long way down,” the male voice said.
She jumped at hearing the voice. Glancing to her left, she immediately recognized Davis Grant. “Yes, it would be.” Maria was used to seeing these spirits, but none had spoken to her before.
Davis had run the WGT Theatre when it first opened in 1854. With the place having burned down twice and having a tornado once rip the roof off, it technically was not the same theatre in 2013 as it had been then, but all the spirits had stayed. As was typical, he wore dark overalls over his white shirt and bow tie. He, too, leaned on the rail and looked down. “I used to come up here just for silence.”
This statement surprised her. “You know what you are?”
His white eyes glanced over. “Dead? A ghost? Yeah, I know. Loving every minute of it, believe me.”
Her eyes returned to the stage below. “Why would you love being dead?”
“The sex, of course. I’m always horny, too. For some reason all the spirits here are horny.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“I was like you.”
Her head cocked before she asked, “How so?”
“I could see them.”
“See who?”
He grinned. “The spirits. The Waldorf Garden Theatre was only built when I was eighteen-years-old, but they had a public square and stage here for the better part of a hundred years before that.” He stood up from the rail and moved towards her. He was massively tall and muscled. His hair was salt and pepper black and short cropped.
Maria, to her own surprise, wanted him closer. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most wouldn’t as the place had a bloody past. Even bloodier than since theatre was built.” He stepped beyond her peripheral and stood right behind her.
“I’m horny, too,” she whispered.
The silence was briefly interrupted by the rustle of his overalls being opened. “I know you are. Let’s deal with that, shall we?”
Maria smiled, feeling his hands on her hips first before they reached around and pulled open the button on her pants and tugged down the zipper. Her jeans and panties were pushed down to her knees. Her tongue licked her lips as she felt the tip of his erection pushing between her legs and, to her surprise, she was wet and ready for him.
Davis gasped at his enjoyment of the sensation as he began to thrust gently into her.
She reached back and grabbed his hip to pull him deeper. Glancing down, she saw another man standing at center stage. “Who is he?”
The man below wore jeans and a T-shirt and was leaning on a push broom as he looked up at them.
Davis slowed and looked over her shoulder and down. “Not sure. But I suspect he knows us.” He reached forward with both hands and squeezed her breasts.
Maria’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean…?”
January 1, 2083
Jeremy watched the couple up on the scaffolding. He, of course, recognized them as Davis Grant and Maria Banner. This seemed unusual as, unlike the other spirits he had seen, this couple did not quite belong together. They came from very different times. He even heard Maria’s pleasured moans.
“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he whispered. “Lucky guy.”
One of the bulbs above popped and blew out.
He began to push his broom across the stage again. He stopped at center stage and looked out at the rickety old seats. “This place will be fucking awesome once it’s fixed up…” He had his goal.
January 2, 1869
Printed in the online edition of The Herald
Davis Grant, theatre manager of the Waldorf Garden Theatre, was found dead yesterday morning on the theatre stage. It is believed he was climbing above the stage for maintenance before falling to his death…
January 2, 2014
Printed in the online edition of The Herald
Tragedy at the Waldorf Garden Theatre last night, as officials found the body of Maria Banner, the theatre manager, at center stage. It is believed she was climbing above the stage for maintenance before falling to her death…
XVIII
Darwin’s Sword
February 28, 2018
“That’s the end?” Zed cried. “How can you end it like that?”
Savannah laughed.
“How can…um…she can’t be dead!”
“Sorry, Zed. That’s how I thought it should end.”
“Shouldn’t she fall in love, or have a family or some such? Isn’t that what humans do?”
Gerald’s face dropped. “Not anymore.”
Zed turned dark grey.
Chapter Four
The End.
I
Darwin’s Sword
The ship rocked gently and woke Gerald.
He always remembered the dream. Truly, it was more memory than a dream, but it did not quite happen as he remembered it. The whirlwind that followed Amy’s death had all been mushed together in his head where little actual detail survived. Might have been that Gerald had drunk too much rum or it might have been his brain’s way of dealing with the stress of losing his planet.
How did one deal with the stress of losing one’s planet? There were no self-help books allotted to this subject.
A long slow breath released from his lips.
Considering what had happened, it was a good memory for him.
The ship rocked again, this time not so gently. Roars and whines followed as the superstructure complained about whatever maneuvers it was being asked to perform.
Lifting into a sitting posi
tion, Gerald scanned the room and found his shirt and pants at the end of the bed. A few tugs and he was dressed before lifting himself into his wheelchair on the right side of the bed. To avoid them getting caught in the wheels, he pulled up the pant legs and tucked them under his stumps.
The ship bucked again with a blast. This was a battle.
“Where’s Riker and Picard when you need them?” Gerald asked the empty room. Right hand on the wall kept him in the chair while his left hand went to his chest to keep his heart from thumping its way out. It was obvious where they were and what was happening but hard for him to fathom when only days prior he had been quietly driving his truck. “Guess this is how Arthur Dent felt,” he said to the empty room. “Guess we found the fucking bastard.”
The door slid open when the wheelchair approached and triggered the motion sensor.
Rolling out to the bridge, his mind immediately wanted to panic at what it saw.
The bridge was dark, with fires on panels to the left. Zed sat at the console behind Savannah and both struggled with whatever it was they were doing. On the front screen was a large metallic tripod with red beams leaping from it towards Darwin’s Sword.
The shuttle bucked again, providing proof that the beams were not imaginary.
With the last hit, Gerald began to float out of his chair, making panic avoidance even more difficult. “Shit! This isn’t good!”
A loud explosion followed above them.
“What the fuck?” Savannah looked up. “We weren’t even hit there!”
Gravity came back quickly as the front screen shifted towards a planet below them. Within seconds, they were wrapped inside of clouds before busting out and finding snow falling around them as grass waved from below.
A clang of something banging against the exterior hull came from their left, like a bell tolling the end of a boxing round.
Or was it the beginning?
Gerald grabbed the handles of the deck chair and lifted himself out of the wheelchair, which promptly accelerated towards the front of the ship. He found the restraints and buckled himself in.
“This was not supposed to happen,” Savannah hissed.
Darwin’s Sword groaned its agreement.
II
Vacki Seventeen
Savannah opened her eyes. Controls sizzled and spattered somewhere around her. The only light provided was caused by a flickering flame that was also out of sight. Steam poured from a vent above with a scream that overpowered the ringing in her ears. Flat on her back, she slowly turned her head left.
Gerald was on his belly, one arm out and the other crumpled beneath him.
Was he breathing?
Where was Zed?
Turning right, she heard the first cracking of the airlock being opened. Panic gripped her belly with thoughts that a foreign atmosphere would kill Gerald, were he not already dead.
Blinding light spilled in from the cracking of the door.
Blinking, Savannah made out two bioped shadows. They looked around the cabin mumbling in words she could not hear due to continual ringing.
One of the shadows moved towards her until it was close enough to make out a face. He was male and wore an Earth military-style helmet. He knelt beside Savannah and looked over at the strewn body of Gerald.
The ringing quieted enough for Savannah to hear him.
He turned and looked back over his shoulder. “Holy fuck! Jasper! They’re human!”
Part Two
An Irish Fall
Chapter One
Auburn’s Ashes
The Hammerhead, Brampton, Ontario
November 22, 2008
Her name was Auburn, or so she had said.
The beat of Nine Inch Nail’s Closer began to rock the club.
The redhead began her private dance for him. She had been sitting on his lap while some nondescript electro dance tune had finished, so this seemed like the perfect way to begin. Her creased smoker’s face came close to tease as if she were going to give a kiss. Her aroma was a mix of bourbon, cigarettes, and something more illicit.
This, of course, didn’t interest him. He would kill her shortly.
Outside the glassed-in private area, a dark brunette slowly shimmied around the stage trying to get the attention of one of the bar flies in the audience so she could drag them to the private area for her big payoff.
The redhead continued with her teasing dance and allowed his hands to explore all of her. Her bikini briefs were gone, and his hand found her clit with no assistance and no resistance.
“With how cold it is, my darling,” he hissed at her, “it is impressive how you can divest so quickly.”
“Is that French?” A giggle passed her lips before she leaned in close to his ear. Her lips brushed against his long blonde hair as she whispered, “Will you let me suck your cock?”
He leaned back in his chair with a smile. None of what he said had been in French, but her words proved to him that she was not feeling anything. Drugs, he suspected, had her body not sensing just how cold the place was.
Her thigh boots creased as she knelt between his legs. With erect nipples, her breasts crushed against his thighs. Locking eyes with him, she tugged at his zipper first. Next, her hands pulled the belt open and followed that with the button of his denims. A hand felt the shape of his erection first and drew her eyes there. “You’re fuckin’ massive.”
This was unusual. Money was usually discussed before a stripper would go this far, but it was all a façade so he simply smiled at her. Like all the rest, she would get no money from him. “Can I make you cum?
Outside the private area, the brunette threw her hands up and shook her bare breasts on the stage.
“I like your thinking.” The grin vanished on seeing his erection as she pulled back the elastic of his undershorts. “I want that,” she hissed.
He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Do your worst.”
Her mouth opened, and she lowered her lips around the erection. She was only able to get halfway before gag reflexes thought better of it. Her small hand had trouble wrapping around the base of the cock. She even stopped and smiled at him as she compared his girth to her arm before her mouth sucked on the tip again.
His cock was soaked with her saliva. Mere humans would have been horrified to have a stripper performing a bareback blowjob, but he was not concerned. He did enjoy the oral aspects of the human mating rituals and even found fellatio more intimate than intercourse. For ten minutes he watched her attempt to milk him before deciding it was time to lean forward again.
“Are you close?” she asked.
“You need to be penetrated,” was the only answer he offered.
“What?”
He leaned closer to her ear. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
The look on her face suggested an adverse response at first, but then his control brought her smile back. “Yes, I do.” Standing, she swayed her hips and turned around.
He laughed knowing she had not heard a word he’d said.
Lowering back down, she seated on his stomach just above his cock, which she held and stroked to the beat.
The music changed to another Nine Inch Nail’s tune, “Only”, as the same brunette continued with her second dance. She lifted herself up the brass pole, wrapped her legs around it, and released her hands to lean slowly back.
The redhead, without urging, stood and turned around before backing up to straddle him. With a hand between her legs, she held his cock for aim before sliding her pussy over it. Her moan showed the orgasm would not be long in coming.
There was a minor relief in having this private dance area to themselves. He was not adverse to it, but it was good to know he would not have to dispatch any witnesses to her death. There was a major relief, again, in not having to deal with the diseases humans would share by performing such acts without protection.
She shuddered and bucked. Leaning forward, she grabbed her ankles leaving him with only her bobbing ass to loo
k at as her pussy slid up and down on his erection. Her next moan came at him over the loud music.
Much as he loved the sensation of fucking, he was taken aback by how fast her orgasm began. He was almost disappointed. Her energy he felt, perhaps enhanced by whatever drug she was on, gave him a shot of warmth.
Her body began to steam with the heat this created. Her skin, pre-creased by her smoking habit, began to shrivel and harden further. As the energy drained from her, she stopped moving.
The vibration of his chuckle caused dust to begin falling from the dry skin of her hips.
The shape of her body collapsed in on itself until she was simply a pile in his lap and on the floor surrounding him.
He laughed and stood up. “Hope it isn’t the cleaner’s day off.” For a moment, he considered throwing one of those Monopoly-Canadian twenty-dollar bills on the pile of dust but thought better as that might raise questions if anyone checked for DNA.
A pile of dust would be unusual, but not seen as anything more than an odd occurrence in a business full of strange occurrences. If money were found in that dust, it might cause someone to do more than vacuum it up. Auburn would be noted as missing, but he had little doubt that many women would leave a place such as this without saying anything.
The music changed again, this time to Finger Eleven doing Paralyzer.
He found this an odd tune.
Toronto-area strippers usually chose slower songs to assist their seductive final reveal of their entire body. This piece felt too fast for the brunette that was still strutting around the stage, now in nothing but exaggerated platform pumps. Her reveal had been quick, leaving her naked body on show for most of the song.